Resurrection: Original Creepypastas

1: The Difficulties of Death.

Note: this one isn't technically a Creepypasta. It's my English assessment. I just wanted to share it since it does have some "gore" elements, so hopefully y'all are into that. I promise to have the next one be a horror story. (And I'll keep y'all updated on how I go in class with it.) And the conditions were to use the Henry S. Haskins quote and make the story between 550-1200 words.

Henry S. Haskins once said: "What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us." Unfortunately for me, my entire life was a conflict, one fuelled by the past.

In my final high school essay, I remember writing of how this world is unable to be repaired. This held truth, though ending a few lives always assisted in creating a more positive environment.

During my time in middle school, I developed an interest for gruesome stories and crime shows that never left the television. Before I knew it, I was planning out methods of stalking and ending the lives of numerous people. Occasionally, I went along with those plans, following home the so-called "victims" and learning of their lives. I never bothered with the murder ideas, that is, until one particular person caught my attention...

Cedric Foster was a year or so older than me, with dyed jet-black hair and a fringe covering his right eye. The guy rarely spoke with anyone, so I suppose we had something in common. For over three years I discovered new information about him, which led to an unhealthy obsession; from his school timetable and arrival times to allergies and extended family, his life was crystal clear to me.

By this time, I was in eleventh grade, studying for exams and losing the last of my sanity. Somehow seeing him on a daily basis assisted me in remaining as humane as possible, though in reality, he was causing a buildup of dangerous emotions.

But then the unimaginable happened.

One day, out of nowhere, he left the school and moved out of his home. There wasn't a trace of his life remaining in that townhouse. Trust me, I checked.

With him nowhere to be found, anger overwhelmed my mind and the alternate voice in my head took over. I began carrying out the far more illegal parts of my plans, ending the lives of many. The news stations couldn't keep up with the missing persons and freshly discovered carcasses, though all was fine as long as they didn't find the killer.

A few years passed and I found myself residing in a partially abandoned hotel that was purchased with a heavy inheritance; corpses lined the halls, their souls very much alive.

On one particular day, I was to commit another murder, but something felt odd. It was as though luck was on my side yet death was looming over me. The mystery feeling lingered on, haunting my existence. I had to get rid of it.

Deciding it would only leave if a new human entered the property, I left to travel to the midst of Perth's Central Business District.

Not too long after reaching the city, I noticed a particular certain person. The fringe was alive and hair dye still in use. Forgetting everything around me, I stared into the eyes of Cedric Foster.

He approached, smiling as the emotion of luck and death shook through my bones. I knew this was my final opportunity to speak with him. We'd only conversed once before, back when school still impacted our lives. That was the day I first met him.

We spoke for a moment regarding education and general living, though as the conversation died down, I realised I would have to offer him a trip to my home. If he said no, I'd have to persuade him. If he agreed, I'd kill him. This wasn't usually an issue, though on this occasion was proving difficult.

And so I asked.

Please say yes... you have to say yes... my thoughts rang, almost becoming spoken words.

"I'd love to," he grinned, placing an arm over my shoulder as we walked to my vehicle. His actions caused my heart to beat faster and thoughts to become a blur, something that'd never previously occurred. This day seemed full of new experiences.

Within the next hour, we pulled up to the parking lot. The pavement was cracked, broken and housing three too many species of rodent. And so was the hotel.

We entered. I held a gun to his head. It was cooperation or a bullet through his skull. He chose to cooperate. Wise lad.

Foster begged to leave, asking just what he'd done to be in this scenario. I shrugged, explaining that it had something to do with him being an interesting character. Truthfully, I had no idea as to why I gave a damn about him.

Scalpel in hand, I watched the tears escape his eyes. I'd dislocate his limbs, carefully remove the tattoo on his left arm and include some emotional abuse along the way. But first thing's first: those eyes. I was sick of them. They were too mesmerising, too intrusive; they displayed too much judgment.

Unable to bear them, I did what any rational human would do: I burnt them. A match and gasoline did the trick as he screamed wildly. There was cursing, yelling, wailing, even howling. He was a weak one, though at least he survived the procedure.

The flames melted the iris, making their way to the pupil and surrounding areas. I watched them envelop part of his nose as the scent of gasoline became ever so prominent.

As his features liquefied, I continued onto that tattoo. It was a rose with a stem of barbed wire, held by a deceased hand. The design wasn't too common. Below it were four words in a language I didn't speak.

The fire burnt out and I stitched together what was left of his eye sockets.

I slipped the scalpel into Cedric's skin, refreshing his cries. There was no doubt that shock was prominent as he struggled against my grasp. The process was delicate and seemed painful. I envied his hurt.

Once his arm was lacking flesh, I considered which limb to begin with and what weapon to use.

I haven't equipped the chainsaw in a while...

I knew this would end him; he couldn't survive the blood loss. I questioned my decisions, all of them, as thoughts rushed through my mind. Amongst the chaos, I realised something... I loved him.

The epiphany drove me insane. I sawed off his arms, legs, stabbed his chest and went so far as to decapitate him. Not wanting him to remember me in the afterlife, I ripped his brain out through his skull and fed it to the dog.

The rest is-

A nurse interrupted my thoughts, causing me to yell out Cedric's name.

She sighed. "Cedric doesn't exist, dear. He's just a character in your mind. You haven't killed him. The sooner you accept that, the sooner you'll leave this institution."

That's what they all said. Just because I disposed of the body didn't mean I was crazy. I suppose those were the difficulties of death; you never knew if it was supposed to happen, or if it happened at all.

I laid back down, rolling up my sleeve to reveal the tattoo. The stitching was inflamed, though I didn't care; I had a part of him forever, a part that, according to another patient, read, "I love you too".
-idioticallystupid

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